


The Boys across the Street

by essomenic



Category: B.A.P, Kpop - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Not K-Pop Idols, Angst and Tragedy, Brotherly Love, Car Accidents, Childhood Friends, Friendship/Love, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Pining, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Romance, Please Don't Hate Me, Psychological Trauma, References to Depression, Sad, Sad Ending, im so sorry, kid!BAP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 11:54:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10853460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/essomenic/pseuds/essomenic
Summary: Moon Jongup doesn't have friends. He just likes to pretend.





	The Boys across the Street

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome! It's my first time posting here woohoo~  
> Don't ask why I did this. Just...don't. I was sad one night and just started writing.  
> Enjoy! (also bring some tissues)

Moon Jongup doesn’t have friends.

 

The sounds of other children laughing and screaming in the orange and red glow of the setting sun are familiar ones, though. He can hear them through his open window as they sing and dance and kick around a deflated soccer ball. He can _see_ them sometimes, too, if he cranes his neck enough. They crowd around the abandoned baseball field across the street, their clothes dusty and their hair tangled in the wind. They’re sunburnt and near passing out from exhaustion when they finally leave the empty field bathed in midnight blues and twinkling stars behind them, but they giggle and carry on as if it's the most fun they could ever have.

 

Jongup likes to listen, to study them. They're there almost every day, rain or shine, to kick around that soccer ball and push each other around. Even the girls, in their messy pigtails and grass-stained uniforms, seem to enjoy these outings. Jongup thinks he would like to join them.

 

But all he can do is to wait.

 

He waits long enough to know each of their voices. He’s learned to pick apart the gaggle of giggles across the street, learned to identify each with the names they shout at one another. He knows their personalities, their favorite games, their shoe sizes. He knows what they talk about when they take breaks from hopscotch or the Clue game Youngjae stole from his big sister’s closet. He _knows_ them.

 

Jongup listens intently, the soft summer breeze carrying their voices right up to his window. He doesn’t know what they look like, can’t tell you how tall they are, or the color of their eyes. All he knows are their voices, and what the voices say. From what he’s heard, they can’t be much older than he is. Yongguk is in seventh grade, same as Himchan. Youngjae and Daehyun are in sixth. Junhong is in fourth, and struggling to keep up with the rowdy lot. No one seems to notice him straining to stay in the circle.

 

Well, no one but Jongup.

 

 

Himchan shares a class with Yongguk. He updates the others on their life in Junior High through mouthfuls of candy. Where he gets all his candy, no one can tell. Jongup secretly suspects he hoards the other boys’ Halloween and birthday candy and saves it for moments like this.

 

“I have connections,” Himchan always grins, and at thirteen, this is a _big deal_. The others, including Yongguk, groan respectively. All Jongup can do is smile from his bed. He likes this. He likes hearing about their lives. They may not know him, they may not know he listens intently to everything they have to say, but that’s okay. Jongup doesn’t have to wait so long if he can get tiny glimpses of their lives.

 

Jongup doesn’t know when it starts, exactly. One by one, the voices get smaller, quieter. It’s as if their laughs get cut short, their cries dying in their throats. They still come to play in the field and they still kick that soccer ball around, but it’s different. It’s changed, somehow. One by one, the days get longer, and the time spent across the street grows shorter and shorter. Soon enough, Yongguk abandons the gang in favor of big kid stuff. Shortly after, Himchan follows his example.

 

One day, Yongguk and Himchan came out to play for the last time.

 

Jongup spends a long while lying awake at night, mulling that realization over in his mind, tasting it on his tongue. He can’t tell what’s changed, but something irreversible is happening, and Jongup has no power to stop it. Something’s _different_. Jongup doesn’t understand.

 

Somewhere along the line, Daehyun and Youngjae decide they like girls. Jongup had seen it coming, and so had Junhong and Lela, the only girl who still chooses to stick around. They seem to like girls more than Junhong, they tell the moping boy, giving him a piece of cake bundled in plastic wrap as an apology. The youngest boy must not think much of the confession, because he eats the cake hungrily, complimenting Daehyun’s mother on her baking. It isn’t until Daehyun and Youngjae stop coming to play that Jongup and Junhong fully absorb the consequences.

 

The field once filled with laughter and sunshine and things that make Jongup feel fuzzy inside is empty. In the mirror, he can just catch the boy, Junhong, sitting in the middle of the dirt. He’s crying. Jongup can hear him clear as day. His little shoulders are shaking, and even the girls who used to play jump rope on the sidewalk don't appear to console him. The other children have long since fizzled out. The boys were really the only regulars that inhabited the space across the street. The girls opted to play with Barbies or makeup, avoiding boys and their _cooties_ most of the time.

 

It was just the boys. And now it’s just Junhong.

 

Watching the boy sit and weep for his lost friends is hard for Jongup. He feels salty tears trickle down his own cheeks. He doesn’t want to think about what this means. There will be more children after this group has gone and grown up. They will come and play in the field across the street and scream and laugh and fill the space in Jongup’s heart. They will sing songs and dance around an imaginary fire and build forts out of the fallen branches strewn around the park. They, in turn, will leave as well, and new ones will come, and Jongup will listen to them play and watch them in the mirror reflection.

 

With a heavy heart, Jongup witnesses the last of the boys slowly leave the field.

 

The days following are long, and the nights stretch even longer. In the darkness, after the sun has set and the moon has taken its place in the sky, he can no longer hear any other children. He can’t hear their breathless voices as they play Youngjae’s stupid Toilet Tag game. He can’t see flashes of their uniforms in the looking glass above his dresser. The world is dark and lonely after they leave, and he has nothing to listen for. He has nothing to wait for.

 

He wonders, sometimes, if things would’ve been different if he had gone to the window, if he had called out to them. He wonders if maybe they would’ve let him play with them too. But then Jongup’s mind drifts to his bed, to the soft cotton sheets brushing against the legs he can’t feel. No one would want to play with a cripple. No one would want to visit a boy locked in his bedroom like a prison cell.

 

His mother read him Rapunzel once, long ago. He hadn’t cared for the story at first. He found it boring, and had to fight to keep his eyelids from sliding closed. The more his thoughts lingered on it, however, the more he saw himself in the fairytale. He is Rapunzel. His illness is the witch keeping him locked in the tower, in his bedroom. He can stare out the window sometimes, but he's never felt the grass on his feet or the sun on his skin. He hasn't ran around with other children or swam in a pool or played kickball in a cramped gymnasium.

 

Jongup doesn’t remember anything outside his room. This is all he knew, all he knows, and all he’s ever going to experience.

 

One vital piece of the Rapunzel story is missing. Where’s the handsome prince that breaks Rapunzel from her tower? Where’s the adventure afterward, as she explores an entire world new and foreign to her? Where does Jongup’s adventure come into play? Is it yet to happen? He thinks he has to wait, but he doesn’t know what he’s waiting for. He wants to wait for friends. He wants to wait for an escape. He wants to live.

 

Jongup doesn’t know when the voices come back. Maybe it’s two years, maybe it’s two days, he isn’t sure. The voices of the boys, his playmates to-be, drift through his window one afternoon the window is closed. They sound happy — so, _so_ happy. Daehyun is telling Himchan about his girlfriend, Junhong teasing him about it with a few side comments directed at Lela. Youngjae has _Clue_ out and ready, and Yongguk sits down and patiently shuffles the cards, just like he always does. Jongup can’t see them in the reflection of the mirror, but he can see them in his mind’s eye. They’re there. They’re all having fun. And Jongup is happy.

 

They wrestle and play tag. They scream and jog around the diamond, stopping only when the ice-cream truck rolls by. The truck doesn’t seem to notice them, though, and their disappointed whines lay heavily on Jongup’s ears. He wants to shout at the truck driver, jump out of bed, _do_ something. He wants to run across the street and tell them he’s _here_ , he’s been _waiting_ for them. He wants to scold them for hurting Junhong like that. He wants to hear about the big kids Himchan’s been hanging around, the science project Youngjae never spilled the juicy details over. He wants to give Yongguk a big hug because he’s back, and Jongup’s so happy to see him. He wants to tell Junhong he’d cried when the others left, too. He wants them all to be happy, and to stay together. He wants to be with them.

 

The voices get softer and softer, until Jongup can’t hear them anymore, and the nurse comes in to give him more medicine. He thinks maybe they left to buy instant noodles, or watch a movie somewhere, like they do on special occasions. He’s so enthralled with thoughts of them that he doesn’t even mind the foul-tasting medicine. He thinks he can come to enjoy taking it, if it means hearing their voices and sharing in their fun again.

 

-

 

The boys start coming again, much to Jongup’s relief. They play with each other as if nothing has changed. It’s almost as though time has stopped, a blissful peace settling about the field. He hears them more and later into the night. He supposes it’s because they’re older now and can stay out later. They don’t have to rush off to dinner, to take baths, or watch their bedtimes anymore. Yongguk and Himchan must be in high school by this time.

 

It also starts to become apparent that they spend most of their time in the field. They’re there when Jongup wakes up, and they’re there until Jongup falls asleep, too tired to continue to listen to their voices. He hasn’t caught glimpses of them in the mirror, but he finds himself wishing he would. He wants to tell them they shouldn’t skip school, that they should go home and eat dinner and take baths and sleep well. He wants to tell them it’s _okay_. He can go a little while without them.

 

Lela stops coming by as frequently as she used to, only stopping to suck on the caramels her grandma gives her and laugh at Himchan. Jongup wants to tell her to stop coming altogether if she’s going to ignore the others trying to play with her, but he doesn’t. He likes Lela too, just maybe not as much as he likes Himchan. The boys are special to him. They build fortresses out of the branches that fall from the tree in his front yard, and he feels closer to them because of it. They have a special bond, even if they don’t know it. They are his friends. He just has to wait.

 

It feels like years before Jongup gathers the courage to tell anyone. When he does, it’s a calm Saturday. The autumn breeze wafting through his window has him sighing against his pillows. He likes the orange and red and yellow collage of colors he sees in his mirror. It’s pretty. Jongup likes pretty.

 

“Do you know the children that play across the street?” He asks his mother. She’s arranging some flowers in a glass vase by the bedside table. She looks up now to meet his gaze with a small smile.

 

“Which children?” She asks. Jongup listens for a moment. The boys aren’t here today. The field is silent across the road, but Jongup can imagine their voices and their presences just as well as if they were really there.

 

“They’re not here today. You’ll see.”

 

His mother smiles again at that, saying she’ll look for them another time. Jongup wonders if she thinks he wants to be friends with them, knowing little of their already budding relationship. They’re already friends in Jongup’s mind, he just needs to wait a little longer and they’ll think the same.

 

Days pass before he remembers to bring the subject up again. He’s been too busy listening to the shouts of joy and Youngjae’s whooping and hollering to really pay attention to anything else. He thinks they must be bundled up in thick sweaters and even thicker scarves, little woolly mittens keeping their hands warm. Daehyun, much too loud for his own good, is screaming with Youngjae about something. Junhong joins in occasionally, but the latter is much quieter than he used to be. Jongup isn’t sure why.

 

He points across the room at the window to the right of the bed. “See, mother? The children outside.” He waits as she moves to the window, Jongup hardly able to contain his excitement. He’s beaming at her when she moves to sit at the end of the bed, careful to avoid his legs.

 

“Have you seen them?” Is what she asks. Jongup nods enthusiastically.

 

“I can see them in the mirror reflection sometimes. I can hear their voices, too!”

 

His mother glances at the mirror, then at the window. It’s closed today. Jongup inspects her anxiously, smile fading. Why isn’t she happy for him? He’s finally made some friends. He just has to wait a little bit. He’ll be better soon.

 

“That’s great, honey,” she says with a smile. It’s warm like hot chocolate, like a live fire, or her fingertips. It’s almost too sweet. Jongup’s nose scrunches. Something feels off.

 

The days get colder, and the sun sets in the West earlier than Jongup wishes it would. He’s accumulated several more blankets, no longer able to open the window, even on the warmest days. That matters little, because he can hear Youngjae and Himchan and Junhong and Yongguk and Daehyun and sometimes even Lela as clear as day. He’s glad he’s always had good hearing. He’s glad they’ve come back to play again.

 

But one night, sometime close to winter, the hushed mumble of crying awakens him. It’s coming from across the street. It’s a soft sound, almost inaudible. The person is distressed, the hushed words falling deftly onto Jongup’s bed. He can’t make out what’s being said.

 

This is the first time Jongup has been scared. For many weeks now, it’s felt like something big and bad has been building, accumulating on the horizon. That something has fostered into a full-blown hurricane, and Jongup is standing on the beach, all alone and completely powerless. He’s scared he won’t be able to hear what’s wrong. He’s scared he won’t be able to console his friend.

 

It's something Jongup's never done before, but he does it now. Absently, he ponders why he's never done it before. Had he been too scared? Had he been too weak? He isn't sure. He twists his body until it hurts so he can crane his neck enough to get a glimpse out the window. He reaches an unsteady hand out, fingers grasping at empty air. The window is too far across the room for him to open it. A strangled sob escapes his lips on accident. He needs to open the window. Someone is crying. Someone needs him.

 

Jongup stills, listening intently. He recognizes the voice, rather than the person lying in a crumpled heap on the ground. It’s deeper than he remembers hearing earlier today, when the others were gathered together, and it baffles him. His eyes glance over the blond boy weeping into his hands, wetting his lips nervously.

 

“I-I didn’t mean to,” the person cries out hoarsely. Through the sobs and the snot and the tears, Jongup immediately puts a name to the voice. Junhong. His sweet, caring Junhong. His eyes fill with pity as he watches the scene he can barely see.

 

The boy lying there looks so different to what Jongup’s mind’s eye painted. He imagined a small boy with a bright smile, with feet too big for his body, and ribs that protruded through his t-shirts.

 

In the darkness, the boy is almost big enough to be a fully grown man. Has he finally grown big enough for Himchan to want to hang out with him at school? He wonders if Junhong qualifies as a “big kid” yet.

 

Junhong lies there for what feels like forever. Jongup wants to scream, maybe throw a blanket of his down to the shivering boy. The moon peeps around a cloud, shining its light down upon the old baseball field across the street. The boy there looks so lonely, so sad. It hurts Jongup.

 

Junhong doesn’t move until his shoulders have stopped quivering and his sobs have quieted. He turns then, hair reflecting in the light of the moon, and Jongup gasps.

 

The person across the street is not a child. He is a man: tall, and handsome. He doesn’t have the boyish features Jongup remembers catching fleeting images of in his looking glass. His face is sad, worn out. His eyes are sunken in, like he’s been crying too much, too frequently. An uncomfortable feeling settles over Jongup’s heart from the inside out. He’d heard Junhong this morning, playing cheerfully with Youngjae as they made bases for their game of capture the flag. His voice hadn’t sounded unhappy at all. He’d sounded like he always has. He’s Junhong. Little, sweet Junhong.

 

Except the man standing across the street isn’t little, and his expression is anything but sweet.

 

Jongup’s pain is white-hot and stabbing. He can’t keep his body twisted in this way without risk of injury. This means little to him as he undoes the straps keeping his legs in place under the blankets. He ignores the jabs of agony as he lifts his body. He’s never done this before, and he doesn’t know what he’s doing now, but he can’t stop himself. Junhong is not the Junhong he knows. This Junhong is different. This Junhong _needs_ him.

 

Jongup somehow manages to roll off his bed and hit the floor without crushing his skull into the bedside table. It doesn't stop the groan that leaves his throat. He stuffs a fist into his mouth to stop any cries from escaping, and crawls across the floor. It’s difficult, much harder than he imagined. He bites harder on his little fist and tries his best. His elbows dig into the carpet and they chafe and burn, but that doesn’t matter. He’ll help Junhong. Even if it hurts a little, he’ll help his friend.

 

The window is big. It’s big enough to stretch almost to the floor, and Jongup blesses it. He can reach up and crack the window open from his crumpled position on the floor. Cold air hits his face as he does so. He blinks a few times, the frigid air stinging his eyes. He’s never been so close to the outside world before. It’s thrilling.

 

His vision swims a bit before adjusting to the scene across the street. Seeing the whole field in its entirety, he takes a deep breath. This is where his friends have played for years. This is where he’s longed to be. This is it.

 

It’s smaller than Jongup expected, but that’s okay. It doesn’t matter the size, especially when Junhong looks even smaller inside of it. His eyes finally land on his friend there. Jongup calls out to him before he can stop himself.

 

He doesn’t know what words form in his chest, can’t be certain he says anything at all, but the sound comes flying out before he can stop himself.

 

Junhong lifts his head, searching around the park. It feels like an eternity to Jongup before Junhong’s eyes meet the window he’s leaning out of. He stares for a few seconds, his lips parting in shock. Then he stands, and Jongup’s breathing almost stops. He’s so much taller.

 

“Why are you there?” He asks loud enough for it to carry across the street. Jongup doesn’t recognize this voice anymore. It scares him.

 

“I heard you crying,” he calls back, voice quivering a bit. “I-I used to watch you play here.”

 

Confusion graces the other’s features, a soft expression. “Play what?”

 

Jongup feels like crying. "With H-Himchan and Youngjae and Daehyun a-and—" he heaves a breath, not used to speaking so loudly, "and with Yongguk." He doesn't mind if his mother comes into the room, scared and worried that he'll strain his voice. He doesn’t care if he can’t heave his body back onto the bed. All of that doesn’t matter anymore. He’s finally talking to his friend. Finally. After all these years. He can finally play with them.

 

Jongup doesn’t miss when Junhong’s expression darkens, a shadow draping itself over his face. He shoves his hands into his pockets and stares at the ground. Jongup wonders if he’s said something wrong. The boy looks uncomfortable. He wants to fix this.

 

“I-I didn’t mean to! I just heard you guys playing. I wanted to join, I swear!” Jongup rushes his words, the anxious feeling sinking deep into his belly not letting up, even when a smile grows at the ends of Junhong’s lips.

 

“That was a long time ago,” is all Junhong says.

 

Jongup blinks his tired eyes a few times. “A long time?” He repeats.

 

Junhong nods. “I’m twenty now.”

 

Jongup furrows his eyebrows, not understanding. He frowns, not appreciating Junhong’s teasing. He knows he isn’t twenty; he’s little, sweet Junhong, who likes cake and hates grown-ups. He’s younger than Jongup, and Jongup is eleven. Junhong _can’t_ be twenty. It’s impossible.

 

Junhong glances down at his wristwatch, pushing the fabric of his sweatshirt out of the way. His brows meet together in a frown of his own, little wrinkles appearing on his forehead. He sighs, his breath floating in clouds in the cold, early winter air.

 

“I have to go,” he says, almost too quietly for Jongup to hear. “I’ll... see you around.”

 

He waves a little awkwardly, his mouth stretching his smile unnaturally. It’s all wrong, and Jongup can feel it in his bones.

 

Jongup waits him until he's out of sight. His back hurts from twisting, and his body feels a bit numb. He can't bring himself to care; he's talked to his friend after so long. It's felt like years of waiting. The other boy smiled at him, even waved. Jongup feels giddy just thinking about it. Maybe he'll come by again and talk with Jongup. Maybe he'll come inside his bedroom and bring the others, too. Maybe they'll all have a reunion and play like they used to. He really wants that to happen. He's so happy.

 

Jongup doesn’t remember that Junhong was crying until the morning. He wakes up in a cold sweat, on the floor. The attic, the room, suddenly feels too small for him. The air feels thick with condensation. He breathes in, but everything feels too _hot_.

 

He vaguely remembers the window. In the blissed-out aftermath, he forgot to close the window. His mother won’t hear the last of it, insisting on putting a lock on the window and locks on the bed straps. Jongup protests, he really does. He doesn’t want his one door to the outside world to be shut and sealed. Junhong is coming again, and Jongup’s going to talk to him and ask him why he was crying. He’s going to ask him why he didn’t stop Himchan or Yongguk or Daehyun or Youngjae from leaving them. He’s going to ask why he never noticed Jongup’s window, why he never looked up and wondered why it was always open. He’s going to ask why he never included him in their fun. He’s going to ask _why_. He’s going to ask so many things, and he’s going to tell him how much Junhong means to him. He’s going to ask him to bring the others. He’s going to ask him to introduce them to him formally, even if Jongup already knows them better than anyone else. He’s going to ask how excited Yongguk and Himchan are to be high schoolers soon and officially be big kids. He’s going to ask Youngjae and Daehyun why they never brought their girlfriends to the field. He’s going to ask Lela, too, why she never brings caramels by anymore. He’s just going to ask and ask and ask until he can’t ask anymore. He’s practically buzzing with excitement.

 

But Junhong doesn’t come again. Jongup waits. He waits every day, from morning until evening. He waits as he takes his medicine and as he cries to himself. He waits until the snowy puffs on the windowsill have melted and gone away and it’s summer again. He waits even when he can open the window again, stopping to watch every person that passes by on the street. He waits with open ears for his friends. He waits. He waits.

 

The boys across the street stopped coming after Jongup spoke with Junhong. He doesn’t know why. It makes him sad. Maybe Junhong told the others of their meeting and they want to surprise him, all of them together. He really hopes that’s the case. He misses hearing their voices. He misses their petty arguments over the last piece of pie or the last gumdrop. He misses joining in when they sing campfire songs, even when there’s no campfire or camp within a two mile radius. He misses their bird calls and secret code names. He misses the fake newspapers they make themselves. He misses their little secrets, and he misses being part of it again.

 

Jongup never gets to see Junhong again. He doesn’t know how long he waits.

 

One day, his mother brings him a shoe box. _‘To the Boy across the Street’_ is scrawled across the top in black sharpie. Jongup likes the sound of that, immediately thinking of his play-mates. So he tears the lid off, little care given to the box.

 

The box is filled with hundreds of sticky notes, each with a message written on it. There’s a huge variety of them, all in different colors. He picks them up happily, reading the short, sweet notes. He reads them over and over again. He reads them twenty times. He reads them a hundred. He reads them so much they tear on the edges and smudge with his tears. He reads them so many times it doesn’t even mean anything to him anymore. Jongup is too sad, really, and confused. It doesn’t add up. _Nothing_ adds up. Jongup doesn’t have friends. Jongup has to wait.

 

Jongup reads them one by one. He gets comfortable against the pillows on his bed, the breeze from the window ruffling his hair. It's just like it always is: the window's open, the birds chirp outside, cars zoom past on the street outside, and Jongup is inside his bedroom. He's inside his prison, like Rapunzel, and the boys aren't outside any longer. He reads the notes.

 

Jongup is sad, but he reads anyway.

 

 

_Jongup!! How are you? Are you feeling okay? You haven’t woken up yet, but the doctors said you will soon. We’re all excited~ ^^ You have to help us finish the fort ASAP! WE NEED YOU TO HELP CUZ YOUNGJAE (flip to other side hehe) IS LAZY AND DOESN’T DO ANYTHING AND IS ALSO STUPID. He’s so dumb but anyway! Get well soon Angel! We all miss you!_

_-ur fav hyung (; (AKA Daehyun ha)_

 

 

_To: Jongup_

_From: leader_

_Get better dork or else I’ll eat the ice cream u left in my fridge. That’s an order._

_-Yongguk (:_

 

_They’re forcing me to do this too, but whatever. Do I care? (yes) Just get better and then we’ll all go watch that film you were pestering us about. Seriously, you’re so annoying sometimes. You just HAD to get sick like this. Seriously, why aren’t they letting us see you? Anyway, this is getting too long (read on other side) I still care about you even if you're annoying so just...stop being a drama queen and come back. Thanks_

_-Himchan_

 

 

_To: Angel_

_From: Youngjae_

_I chose a pink one becuz it’s pretty and my girlfriend likes pink. Don’t tell anyone that!!!!_

 

 

_Jongup~ I miss you ): Please get out of the hospital super fast & give me cuddles! I’m dieing of loneliness!!_

_-sad Junhong :((((((((_

 

 

  _  
_

_To: Jongup_

_From: Yongguk_

_This is unfair. They’re not letting us see you. We’ll pin that picture of you covered in chocolate to the pine tree and pay homage haha!_

 

 

_Are you’re legs O.K.? Jongup stay safe!!!! Sleep well and you won’t hafta be in one of those thingies with wheels or whatevr_

_-Junhong :P_

 

 

_Junhong that’s called a wheelchair you idiot._

_-Smart Guy Youngjae (hehe)_

 

 

_JONGUPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPILOVEYOU_

_-Daehyun_

 

 

_OK these are getting excessive. I TOLD Yongguk keeping the box in the fort for anyone to add notes to was a bad idea but NOBODY LISTENS TO HIMCHAN URG_

 

 

_Hello Jongup! I hope you get better soon and come back to play! We love you!_

_-Lela_

 

 

_To: Jongup ):_

_From: leader hyung_

_We got the news. I’m so sorry._

 

 

_JONGUP IT’S OKAY I STILL LOVE YOU WE CAN PLAY STILL WE ALL LOVE YOU PLEASE COME BACK_

_-Daehyun (and Youngjae too)_

 

 

_Jongup???????? Don’t be sad pls becuz that makes me sad to_

_No 1 else Will help with my grammar! Also ur mom is sad so! DONT MA KE UR MOM SAD TOOOOO >.<_

_-Junhong_

 

 

_We don’t care if you’re crippled. Why are they keeping us away from you?_

_-Himchan_

 

 

_Hyung~~~~~~~~~_

_I’ll even give you piggie pack rides!_

_-Junhong ):_

 

 

_For the last time, it's a PIGGYBACK RIDE JUNHONG YOU DUMB DUMB_

_-Daehyun_

 

 

_They’re being mean to me_

_-Junhong_

 

 

_To: Jonguppie_

_From: leader_

_We can wait. It’s been a while but we can wait longer. Get better soon._

 

 

_Jongup my girlfriend broke up with me!! What do I do???_

_-Distressed Guy Youngjae_

 

 

_To: JONGUP THE BABY_

_From: the kid u made Junhong punch_

_UR SUCH A BABY HAHA I FOUND THIS IN UR LAME FORT AND SAW UR LAME NOTES LOL UR L A M E NOBODY LIKES U HAHAHAHA JUNHONG WILL DIE_

 

 

_Jongup!!!!_

_-Junhong_

 

 

_To: Jongup ^^_

_From: leader_

_You’re finally getting out of the hospital!!!! (: You’re finally O.K.! That’s so good! I’m so happy!_

_-Yongguk (:_

 

 

_Congratulations on a good recovery Jonguppie~_

_-boys across the street_

 

 

_Hyung what do we do?_

_-Junhong ):_

 

 

_I don’t know what to say. Why am I back here again? This is impossible. You can’t possibly not know us WE’RE YOUR BEST FRIENDS THIS ISN’T FAIR HOW DOES THIS MAKE SENSE_

_-Himchan_

_P.S. STUPID DOCTORS KNOW NOTHING_

 

 

_Maybe in a few months?_

_-Youngjae_

 

 

_Maybe you'll remember us if we jog your memory somehow? Should we hold up signs outside your window and signal to you?? ILL STILL LOVE YOU, JONGUP BABY_

_-Daehyun_

 

 

_Shut up Daehyun no one likes you_

 

 

_Youngjae that was mean._

_-Yongguk_

 

 

_At least I’m HONEST_

_-Youngjae_

 

 

_Hyung im so tall imp robs taller then you!_

_-Junhong_

_Wait I meant “im probs” but it got messed up SORRY  
_

 

 

_Has it been a year? Already? Get better Angel~_

_-Daehyun_

 

 

_Wow I almost forgot we did this lol we were so lame_

_-Youngjae_

_P.S. girls r stupid_

_P.S. 2. So are boys_

 

 

_You haven’t helped me with my grammar like you said you would ): It’s O.K. becuz some big kids are helping me now and Im learning a lot. I miss you hyung!!!! )):_

_-Junhong_

 

 

_I GOT AN A ON MY GRAMMAR TEST YESSSSSSS_

_-HAPPY JUNHONG_

 

 

_To: Jongup_

_From: Yongguk_

_I can’t believe it’s been two years? Where’s everyone been? I don’t even see any of the boys anymore. High school is tough._

 

 

_JONGUP YOU SAID YOUD GIVE ME ADVICE ON LIFE WTF MAN IDK WHAT IM DOING_

_-Daehyung_

 

 

_Ignore Daehyun he’s overreacting. It’s just a kiss._

_-Smart Guy Youngjae_

 

 

_Jongup?_

 

 

_JONGUUUPPPPPPIIIIEEEEE /:’,_

 

 

_To: Jongup_

_From: Yongguk_

_Coming back here is depressing. Wow._

 

 

_I dedicated this art thingie in school 2 you hyung! I love you!!_

_-Junhong_

 

 

_Good to see you’re happy I guess. Enjoy that._

_-Himchan_

 

 

_Himchan is being mean IGNORE HIM_

_-Junhong_

_P.S. Youngjae and Daehyun ???????_

 

 

_HA GAY_

_-Youngjae_

 

 

 _You_ **_ARE_ ** _gay sweatie_

_-anonymous_

 

 

_I know that was you Daehyun stop being an idiot_

_-Smart Guy Youngjae_

 

 

_JONGUP OMG WE GOT YOUR LETTER WE’RE SO HAPPY AHHHHHH ILYSM_

_-Junhong_

 

 

_Letter? I didn’t get a letter? What letter? How can you get a letter from someone who’s still a child in the head? He never grew up you guys. He’s stupider than Junhong now. Stop leaving these stupid letters or whatever and grow up. How old are you now?_

_-Himchan_

_His MOM wrote it you dumb fucks. Geez_

 

 

_I stole the box MUAHAHAHAHA! Himchan cant be mean now >:/_

_I’ll just write notes to you hyung!! It’ll be O.K._

_-Junhong_

 

 

_The other guys don’t come around now._

_-Junhong_

 

 

_Thinking about you makes me sad hyung_

 

 

_Wow I just found this after two years of it being in my closet. We were such weird kids. Hope you’re doing well up there in your attic, Jongup. I wish we could’ve continued to be friends._

 

 

_Why am I writing this? Idk actually. I was really upset and suddenly you were there and you were leaning out your window and you knew me. That’s impossible. How? I haven’t been to your house or anywhere near it in years._

_I’m sorry Jongup._

 

 

-

 

 

In the bottom of the box is a letter. It’s folded neatly, and the paper is fresher, cleaner in a way the the faded sticky-notes could never hope to be.

 

 

_To the boy across the street,_

_I’m sure you’re aware of who this is. I hope you haven’t been waiting for me to come by again. I walk past your house sometimes, and the window is always open, just like it used to be, but I couldn’t bring myself to talk to you again. I felt too guilty._

_We used to talk about you a lot. We used to talk about the good times, when you used to play with us. We had to stop, though, and we had to stop coming to the field. The doctor said it wasn’t good to stick around. I wish that wasn’t the case, but we were just kids. We just left you like that and I still feel guilty about it to this day. I know none of this makes sense to you now, but I do have an explanation, even if it lands on heavy ears._

_I’m sorry, Jongup. Really, I am._

_I’m not sure what you remember, or if you remember anything at all. It was all too muddy after the accident, everything was in the grey and so we weren’t allowed to see you while you were in the hospital. But then the news came. The accident left you with paralysis from the waist down._

_Scans showed brain damage, too. You didn’t know us. You didn’t know anyone but your mom. It hurt a lot, to put it lightly. Things changed after that._

_I’m not going to ask why you suddenly knew who I am or why you waited until that night last year to finally talk to me. That is not the purpose of this letter. You don’t seem to know what’s happened. I talked to your mom and she... told me how you’ve been. I couldn’t just walk away knowing you have no knowledge of what’s happened over the past ten years. I would’ve sent you this earlier, but it’s taking everything out of me to write it now._

_There is no Yongguk. At least, not anymore. The leader of our group and the heart and soul of our friendships isn’t with us any longer. He committed suicide his junior year of high school, shortly after we had a falling out._

_There is no Himchan, either. He couldn’t seem to accept the fact that his best friend took his own life and he got reckless. He died a year or two later, fresh on the college scene, on his way to visit us back here. It was icy and a truck slid into his car._

_Youngjae and Daehyun. Where do I begin with those two? They were always together, basically inseparable. Attached at the hip, you might say. I guess they carried that trait straight to their graves. They went all through high school with bright smiles and happy-go-lucky attitudes, but their dark pasts caught up to them eventually. I tried to help them, really I did. I don’t know if you know this, but their “girlfriends” were actually each other (everyone saw that coming, aha). I’m sure they were happy with each other, even if the rest of the world didn’t approve. They were good people, they really were. They went missing sometime three years ago. No bodies have been found. People suspect a hate crime. It was a week after they came out._

_I don’t know if you remember Lela or not, but I thought I should mention her as well, because her fate is really the saddest of our bunch. She’s really the sweetest girl you will ever meet. She used to bring us candies her grandma kept in a tin under the porch, blaming the squirrels every time she was caught. She still lives in her grandma’s house, but her mental issues came back. We used to visit her as a group, but she wasn’t even aware of anything going on around her. I’ve visited her recently, too, but she isn’t the same. She doesn’t remember our group like we do._

_I’m sorry if this is a lot to take in, I know it must be. It’s a lot to write out, actually. You can’t possibly imagine how much I’ve missed them, my childhood friends. I can’t possibly imagine how you feel, knowing all of them are gone. I won’t try. Instead, I’ll just apologize._

_There really is nothing else to say other than to apologize. If only the accident had never happened, if only you had known about the fate of our group. I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry._

_I hope to see you in your window, maybe, one of the times I go to the field._

_-Junhong_

_P.S. my grammar got better didn’t it??_

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jongup never remembers his friends.

 

He can recognize their voices and the vague outline of their blurry forms in the mirror reflection, but he doesn’t know them. He can tell you how many science fairs Youngjae won, and how much candy it takes to give Himchan a stomachache, but he can’t identify their faces, even if he wanted to. It’s all relative. It’s all too fuzzy. Jongup just has to wait. He has to wait for his legs to get better and his mind to come back. He has to wait for his friends. He has to wait to be rescued. He has to _wait_.

 

Jongup is no longer eleven. He's been twenty-one since February, but he doesn't know it. In his mind, he's forever eleven, and his friends are always across the street, kicking around a deflated soccer ball or playing with Youngjae's sister's Clue game. It's like time is stuck for Jongup. While the world moves on and forgets, Jongup is stuck. His world is like a snow globe, his universe the window across the room and the looking glass above the dresser. It's all the same, and it always will be.

 

Moon Jongup has no friends. And that’s okay.

 

**Author's Note:**

> IM SORRY. IM SO SORRY.  
> please comment or send kudos or something bc i need constant validation (not even joking y'all lmao)


End file.
